Sorry I Missed You Read Online Lorraine Brown

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
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Sometimes love is just around the corner…

Rebecca isn’t looking for love. She’s perfectly happy with her high-flying city job, gorgeous flat overlooking Hampstead Heath and fortnightly fling with the hot CEO. She’s certainly not interested in the hot actor neighbour who’s just moved in opposite…
Jack is still looking for his big break. It turns out being the star talent at drama school doesn’t give you a golden ticket to Hollywood, after all. The last thing he needs is any distractions right now – especially not the uptight, power-suit wearing girl next door.
They might live only a few metres away from each other but their worlds couldn’t be further apart, plus opposites don’t really attract, do they…?

Full Book:

January

1

Rebecca

I was in the bathroom when the buzzer rang, attempting to apply bright red lipstick properly, with a brush, so that it didn’t end up smeared ghoulishly across my face by the end of the evening. He was six minutes early, which I thought was very inconsiderate. If somebody invited me round for eight, I’d arrive on the dot and not a moment before. Those vital few minutes made all the difference when you were having people over and you wanted everything to be perfect when they arrived.

I gave up on the lipstick and dashed into the bedroom, dousing myself in one more layer of my most expensive perfume and leaving a trail of it behind me as I flitted into the lounge to press play on the Spotify playlist I’d spent literally hours putting together. The melodic beat of London Grammar’s ‘Hey Now’ started up, which I’d thought was a strong first track. Just the right amount of cool without being so hip as to be utterly unbelievable. Tyler might not even be into music and so it wouldn’t matter, but I always thought it best to prepare for every eventuality.

I hurtled down the hallway, smoothing down the fabric of my red midi wrap dress, my bare feet sticking slightly on the parquet floor. The latch felt slippery underneath my fingers as I fumbled with the lock and threw open the door.

‘Oh,’ I said.

It wasn’t the suave, forty-something New Yorker I’d been expecting, but a different guy with sparkly eyes and broad shoulders and a nose that dominated the otherwise softer features of his face and wavy brown hair that was longer at the front than it was at the sides. He was not suave (or forty) and he was wearing a black jersey long-sleeved T-shirt pushed up to the elbows.

‘Hello,’ I said, confused.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ he said.

He seemed a bit stressed, I thought. Now I came to think about it, he did look vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. Was he one of the Amazon delivery guys? The new boyfriend of my upstairs neighbour? Nope, it wasn’t coming to me.

‘I’m Jack,’ he explained, pointing over his shoulder. ‘From the flat opposite.’

I noticed he was wearing black joggers that were too short and showed his ankles and white Adidas trainers with no socks. It was an odd ensemble. Most people would look ridiculous in it, but remarkably he’d sort of managed to pull it off.

‘Oh, right,’ I said, it finally dawning on me that he was the new guy from across the landing.

‘I moved in a few days ago,’ he added. ‘I’m subletting the flat from a friend for the next six months.’

I knew the friend he meant. Tom something his name was. I’d always thought he was a bit up himself, if I was honest. He had a stunning, waif-like girlfriend with auburn hair and razor-sharp cheekbones who’d wafted up and down the stairs in floaty skirts all summer long, her tan leather sliders clip-clopping noisily on the steps.

‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Jack. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Rebecca,’ I said, stroking my cuff with my thumb. He was friendlier than Tom, I’d give him that. ‘I’ve been here a while. A year and a half or so.’

He nodded. ‘Ah, I see. You know how it all works, then?’

‘Well, the communal hot water doesn’t work, not really,’ I said, immediately warming to my subject. ‘So if you want a bath, you’ll either have to get up at the crack of dawn or do it after ten. And bin day is Tuesday. And don’t slam the lift doors after nine or the woman on the ground floor will kick off. Anything else you need to know?’

He laughed. ‘That was a very thorough introduction, thank you.’

‘I aim to please.’

The next track on my playlist came on. It must be eight by now.

‘Ah, I’ve got a package for you, haven’t I?’ I said, remembering there was a reason this Jack was standing on my doorstep.

‘You have,’ he said, looking relieved. ‘Thanks so much for taking it in.’

I went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard under the sink, pulling out all the stuff I’d shoved in there earlier when I’d been flying about trying to make the flat look like a show home. Sweat prickled on my forehead as I riffled through rolls of bin bags and bottles of washing detergent and the kitchen gadgets (the spiraliser, a salad spinner and was that an avocado slicer?) I’d stuffed in there at various points over the last twelve months because I never used them. But there was one thing missing: Jack’s parcel.


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